Limitations
by Relks the Disturbed
Summary: The Traveler. It gave us the ability to fight against the Darkness. To stand against the aftermath of the Collapse, and fight back for the remnants of the Golden Age. Many revere it almost as a God. But one, in particular, doesn't even know what it is. He is a Guardian who died long ago, before the Traveler was ever found. He must come to terms with the new world, and become Legend


**Okay, everybody. Little intro first. Hi, I'm Relks the Disturbed. I've done a bit of fanfiction writing up to this point, and I'm sure a lot of you are familiar with my usual writing partner: Puppeteer of the Realms. And in my working on fanfics with him, I've discovered we share a vicious cycle. He finds an idea he really likes and runs with it. I add to it here and there with characters and little plot ideas. And then I decide I like the characters and writing for the universe so much that I end up deciding to write for that fandom myself. **

**It happened with our RWBY fics. And now it happens here. For anyone who's read Puppeteer's newest work, Mortality, you're going to recognize the main character of my story pretty quickly. I enjoyed creating him so much I wanted to bring him life beyond the limits of what Puppeteer wanted in his work, and as it's my character I had free reign to do so. Puppeteer was cool with it, so here we go. **

**So, in short, there will be characters in this story that appear in both Limitations and Mortality, but though they are the same Who, it will not be the exact same Where and What. Multi-verse theory and all that. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Destiny. It's the property of Bungie(This is awesome) and Activision(This part sucks). **

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><p>Smoke was everywhere. The sounds of bullets flying through the air could be heard no matter how hard he tried to tune them out. There was a sharp <em>ping<em>, and a sudden flash of pain along the left side of his head. The blow was disorienting but thankfully not fatal.

'_Thank God for Uncle Sam not skimping on the combat gear.' _The errant thought brought a smile to his face, that is until another sharp _ping _bounced off his helmet and left him seeing stars. A growl tore its way up from the depths of his throat, as he crouched low to the ground and sprinted as fast as he could to the burned out husk of a bus. A lull in the gunfire caused his whole body to tense.

'_Fuck. If they stopped shooting, somebody lost.' _That thought did not bring a smile to his face. When the sound of your own breathing and the crackling of burning fires was all you could hear during a war, something was very, very wrong. Gritting his teeth with anxiety, he slowly rose from his cover behind the car. He felt his throat close in fear as he bullet zipped passed his head.

He forced himself to push through that, shouldering the M4-Carbine in his hands, '_Sniper. Top floor, second window from the left.' _Gunnery Sergeant Hartman's training took over as he sighted his target. He let his line of sight settle over the centermass of his enemy, and squeezed the trigger twice. The body of his enemy jerked unnaturally, and he pulled his line of sight up to plant another round at right where the dying man's chin should be.

"One down, millions to go," he sighed under his breath. The sounds of planes overhead drew his gaze up, and he felt a knot in his stomach as a bomber jet passed over, and it definitely wasn't American.

"Private Coulson!" His head whipped to the left, seeing his CO sprinting towards him. He was a large man, African American with a close cut beard. He slowed to a walk as he grew nearer, raising his right hand to point to the sky. The normally stoic man's face did not hold the silent determination that had carried his squad through thick and thin in this war. Instead, it was marred with a resigned look of defeat.

The booming rumble was the giveaway. He felt his knees buckle, the dull reverb as his back hit the burned husk of the car. And yet some perverse part of himself couldn't tear his eyes away, watching the huge metal spear fly through the air towards the heart of the city. His blood ran cold, ice flowing through his veins as he knew what was about to come.

"It's been an honor serving with you, John," he muttered to his CO, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You too, Roarke. Godspeed."

'_Of course, the Chinese were the first to drop the dirty bo-' _

That was Roarke's last thought, as a blinding light flared from the city and engulfed everything….

"Guardian! Wake up, Guardian!"


End file.
